Once a Rebel

by Mary Jo Putney

  “That could be problematic, too, but I’ll think about it in the morning. I’m so tired my mind is refusing to work.” She sighed wearily. “Perhaps we can take turns sleeping while one person watches in case roving soldiers turn up.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” He stood, then scooped her from the sofa. “I’m a light sleeper and haven’t had as tiring a day as you, so I’ll keep watch. Now you must sleep.”

  She squeaked with surprise, then relaxed in his arms as he carried her to the small bedroom. Since there wasn’t much furniture, he managed to avoid tripping and dropping her, which would have interfered with his manly attempts to sweep her away.

  He laid her on the side of the bed that was against the wall so she was securely tucked in. She murmured, “There’s a light coverlet folded across the foot of the bed.”

  It had cooled a little, so he found the coverlet by touch and spread it over her. She was already asleep. He had been telling the truth about being a light sleeper, and he put his brain on alert for any threatening sounds.

  That done, he couldn’t think of a good reason why they shouldn’t share the bed, which was a damn sight more comfortable than the floor or the sofa. Quietly he lay down beside her, releasing his breath in a long sigh as he rolled onto his side and laid his left arm over Callie’s waist.

  They were perilously close, especially since she wore only a shift and he was in shirt and drawers, but no matter. For the first time in more years than he could count, all seemed right with the world.

  Chapter 8

  Callie was jarred awake by cannon fire. No, not artillery but thunder, because a blaze of nearby lightning briefly glared through the room. She relaxed, much preferring a violent thunderstorm to an attacking army.

  She drowsed, feeling wonderfully relaxed in every fiber of her body. Another flash of lightning and almost instant thunder rattled the roof and brought her more awake. Memory returned with a shock as she realized that she was not home in her own bed because her house had been burned to the ground by the British.

  She was in the guest cottage, and she was not alone in the bed. She jerked to full wakefulness, momentarily panicked. Then she relaxed. It was Richard, miraculously alive. He lay on his side behind her with his arm resting on her waist. Even in the darkness, she recognized him by his scent and some mysterious essence of her old friend.

  To her relief, Richard stirred and removed his arm from her waist. “Your thunderstorms are as extreme as your heat.”

  “True, but the rain that’s pounding down should put out the fires, and that’s a blessing.” She stretched luxuriously, arching her back and extending her arms over her head. “I can’t remember when I’ve slept so well. You make me feel safe. Remember when we decided to use each other’s middle names?”

  “It was raining, though not as fiercely as now,” he said immediately. “We were very young then, barely out of the nursery. We’d walked out to the lake at Kingston Court and were on our way home when the storm struck, so we took shelter in a hay barn. You said I didn’t look like a George, and asked what other names I had.”

  She laughed. “I liked the name Gordon better, but the sound is too hard, and Augustus is pompous. Richard is softer and warmer. More like you.” Ever since that day in the hay barn, he’d been Richard to her.

  “There are few who would consider me soft or warm,” he said with amusement. “Apart from my nurse, no one else has ever called me Richard. But I liked the idea of us having private names for each other, so we picked through your names as well.”

  “You said Catherine was too dignified for an unruly chit like me. That left Callista, which you promptly shortened to Callie.”

  “The name is unusual, like you, but the nickname Callie is more mischievous,” he explained. “I liked that Callisto was one of Artemis’s huntresses in Greek mythology.”

  “I liked being a huntress, but I later learned that the name means ‘most beautiful.’ I’m sure you didn’t intend that.”

  He chuckled. “Thinking back, you were a remarkably pretty little girl, but I never noticed because of the tangled hair and mud on your face.”

  “Ha! Were you any better?”

  “Worse,” he said promptly. “We spurred each other into trouble.”

  “We were never mean to other children, though. It was innocent fun.” She sighed nostalgically. “I’m so glad to have my brother back.”

  A flare of lightning briefly illuminated the room and she saw that Richard had arched his brows. “You have a brother and I am not he.”

  “I scarcely remember Marcus. He was so small when I left England. Still in the nursery. He turned twenty-one recently. I expect my parents gave a grand ball to celebrate the heir’s coming of age.”

  “Very likely,” Richard agreed. “But here and now, I want to make the point that I am not your brother, and I do not regard you as a sister.”

  “But we were brother and sister to each other,” she protested. “You had no sisters and my brother wasn’t old enough to be a playmate, so we shared sibling ways of getting into trouble. Getting muddy in the creek together, riding and learning to jump fences, and covering up each other’s crimes. Being punished together, too. You were a much better brother than my actual brother.”

  “I am not your brother,” he said with an edge to his voice.

  “No?” She blinked as another flash of lightning briefly illuminated his silhouette and strong, elegant features. She felt a sense of loss, as if his denial of their childhood relationship took away a treasured part of her past. “I liked having you as a brother.”

  “I am not your brother!” he repeated, his voice rough this time. And he leaned forward and kissed her.

  As his lips covered hers with warm command, shock jolted through her. This was not the way things were supposed to be!

  Her startled reaction was swiftly followed by sensations different from any she’d ever experienced. Heady, disturbing feelings curled through her from head to toes, bringing alive all parts in between.

  She’d barely started to feel interest in the male half of the species when she’d been married off to a man three times her age. Matthew was always gentle with her, even in his brief, ardent honeymoon phase, but she’d never felt more than mild curiosity and dutiful acceptance in their marital bed.

  This—this was different, and for the first time she understood why women ruined themselves with men. She felt a promise of something wild and compelling in Richard’s touch, and it terrified her. When he moved a warm hand to her waist, mere inches from her unbound breasts, she shoved herself away from him, ending up plastered against the wall beside the bed. “This is a really, really bad idea!” she said in a choked voice.

  “You’re undoubtedly right.” Seeing her reaction, he made no attempt to move closer or kiss her again. “But I wanted to make it clear that I am not your brother. Though I never had a sister, I’m sure I wouldn’t feel this way about her.”

  “I should hope not!” Another bolt of lightning lit Richard’s composed features. He didn’t look like a menacing brute, but he was a great deal more than her childhood friend. She’d bought a large bed so married guests could be comfortable, but now it was filled with Richard, who dominated the space and the very air she breathed. He was all strength and power and she was acutely aware that she wore only a whisper thin muslin shift and he wasn’t wearing much more.

  She started to scramble from the bed, but he caught her wrist. “Stay, Catkin,” he said softly. “Dawn is still some time away, and I promise that nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen.”

  She hesitated, then realized that she believed him. Besides, at this hour of the night, with rain thundering down on the cottage, there wasn’t really anywhere else to go. She lay back on her pillow, still tucked in the corner between bed and wall, and pulled the lightweight coverlet over her.

  She couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe that her friend Richard would harm her, but she feared the male aggression and dominance
he radiated. She’d been suppressing fear ever since she fled Jamaica. The day just past had brought those fears to the surface, so she ruthlessly suppressed them again. Her situation was difficult but not disastrous, and she must focus on her real problems, not let herself be flustered by a man. “What I want to happen is a swift, safe journey to Baltimore,” she said coolly. “With no complications from you.”

  “Understood.” He settled down again on his side, facing her. He took up less space that way. “But I do hope I’ve been reclassified from being your brother.”

  “You have. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad,” she said, wishing he really was her brother. That would be so much easier.

  “Not good or bad, it just is,” he said. “We aren’t children anymore, Callie. We have a foundation of deep friendship, but we’re adults now.”

  She’d never thought about his voice when they were children, but she realized that his adult voice was quite lovely. Rich and flexible and dangerously persuasive. “Very true. Adults have less trust and time, and more doubts and fears and responsibilities.”

  “Yes, and my responsibility is to keep you safe from the dangers of war, which includes reuniting you with your family,” he said peaceably.

  “My English family, or my real family?”

  “Your English family is paying for this mission, but where you go from here is your choice. When I was asked to take this mission, I made it clear I wouldn’t try to coerce you to travel back to England against your will. Though I do wonder if you’ve ever considered returning there.”

  “I dream of England sometimes.” And when she did, it was usually the joyful hours with Richard. “Cool. Green. Home in a way that the New World has never been. But I won’t return to England and live as a poor relation. I like having the freedom to live my life as I think best. I’ll start another dressmaking business in Baltimore. It will take time to build a clientele, but the city is far larger than Washington, and it’s wealthy. I’ll manage, and I’ll do it on my terms.”

  “The traditional way for a woman to support her household is through marriage,” he observed. “Beautiful women like you seldom lack for male interest, yet I gather you took no lovers after you banished your husband from your bed?”

  The faint lift at the end of the sentence made it a question. She was grateful for the darkness that hid her flush. “I would not dishonor Matthew by being unfaithful. Nor was I tempted by any of the available men.”

  “There is nothing like lack of temptation to promote virtue,” he said dryly. “But you’re a widow now and marriage would make your situation much easier.”

  She snorted. “That’s a very male way of thinking! One marriage was more than enough. I will not repeat the experience. I’ll manage very well on my own.”

  After a thoughtful silence, he said, “Part of my mandate is to make sure that you’re not in dire financial circumstances. Money would be very useful for rebuilding your life if you decide not to return to England, and I have a good deal of money at my disposal.”

  Surprised, she said, “Andrew Harding must be a very wealthy man to spend all this on a woman he’s never even met!”

  “He’s wealthy, and I presume his wife is very persuasive.”

  “I have trouble imagining any of my sisters being that persuasive, but I haven’t seen them in fifteen years.” She had a brief mental image of how they had all looked dressed up for Callie’s wedding, just before she’d left Rush Hall forever. “If I went back, it would be a shock to see them all grown up.”

  “I sometimes wonder about my various brothers, but not enough to actually find out what they’re doing,” Richard said. “The two older ones were rather rotten, and the youngest were still schoolboys. Since three different mothers were involved and we were sent to different schools, I don’t know them well. Particularly not the two younger ones.”

  “My children know and love each other. That’s the way families should be. Which is another reason not to marry. I could never, ever take a husband who would look down on them because of their mixed blood.”

  “That does call for caution in marriage,” he agreed. “People are usually on their best behavior when courting. Reality may come as a rude shock after the wedding.”

  “So many good reasons not to marry.” Since it was easy to talk in the darkness, she asked, “What about you? Are you married? Or have you ever been?”

  “Good Lord, no!” he said, clearly startled by the idea. “I’ve led far too irregular a life for marriage. No sane woman would want to take me on.”

  But his looks and charm could easily make a woman forget her sanity. Curious, she asked, “What do you wish for? Are you rooted back in England? Do you want a wife and children? Do you want to fulfill the Englishman’s dream of owning your own estate and becoming the local squire?”

  He huffed out a breath and she heard him roll onto his back. She guessed he was staring up into the darkness when he replied. “Once I would have said no. I’ve led an erratic life, and while some parts were terrifying and painful, others were very rewarding. I wouldn’t trade my past, even the parts I regret. But . . .”

  When his voice trailed off, she prompted, “But what?”

  “I’m over thirty now. Five years ago I had an experience that made me take a closer look at my life. I’d done too many things I’m not proud of. Sowing wild oats is relatively acceptable when one is young, but eventually, it becomes—unseemly. Since then, I’ve tried to be a better person. To help others where it’s needed.”

  Fascinated, she asked, “What was the experience that changed your direction?”

  “Imminent execution,” he said succinctly. “I was in northern Portugal when the French were overrunning the place. Five of us ended up imprisoned in a damp cellar and condemned to be shot at dawn as English spies. We drank bad brandy and talked about how we would reform our lives if by some miracle we survived.”

  He sounded so casual about a sentence of death! “Obviously you survived. You lived up to your resolution?”

  “Yes, that’s how I took up my present line of work. I find solutions for people who don’t have the means to solve certain problems themselves.”

  “That sounds admirable,” she said. “And so you are here, rescuing a prodigal widow on behalf of a very rich man.”

  He laughed a little. “The work is worthy and the pay is very good. But as I said, since reaching the great age of thirty, I’ve started to think there must be something more. I just haven’t figured out quite what.”

  “Marriage, family, and a manor house?” she suggested. “As I recall, you had an inheritance from your godfather. Might that be enough to become a country gentleman?”

  “I imagine it would be, though contacting the family lawyer would mean the risk of actually meeting my father or brothers,” he said without enthusiasm. “My interactions with the noble Audleys have consisted of occasionally sending a note to the family lawyer saying something like, ‘Sorry to inform you that I’m still alive!’”

  She laughed out loud. “I see you haven’t entirely outgrown your desire to irritate your relations.”

  “No, so it’s just as well I don’t see them,” he said without regret. “If I ever do become a country squire, I’m unlikely to run into my grand relations since they’re such snobs and prefer to avoid the lower orders. Personally, I find the lower orders so much more interesting than most members of the beau monde.”

  “You’re Lord George Gordon Richard Augustus Audley, third son of the Marquess of Kingston,” she said with a smile. “Not precisely one of the lower orders.”

  “My father would disagree,” he said dryly.

  “Your father is hopeless, but it might be possible to become friends with your brothers. Surely one or two of them are worth knowing?”

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. “It would have to be one of the younger brothers since the two older ones are deeply unpleasant. I prefer friends to family because we get to choose our friends.”

  “
If you decide to marry and settle down, your wit, handsome face, title, and a moderate fortune will make it easy to find a wife who can be both friend and lover.”

  “Finding a good mate is the most difficult thing on earth, I suspect,” he said pensively. “My title isn’t much use since it’s merely courtesy. You didn’t seem to be very impressed by becoming Lady George Audley.”

  She chuckled. “I was too surprised to be impressed. Besides, I don’t like the name Lady George any more than I liked you being Lord George.”

  “With luck, you won’t have to pretend to be Lady George again.” He took her hand casually, his fingers lacing through hers. “We should be able to get another hour or two of rest before facing the new day, which is apt to be a busy one.”

  She covered a yawn. “That’s a good plan. Sleep well, Richard. And dream of a suitable wife who is a friend, along with a happy, uneventful life.”

  As she drifted off, she heard him murmur, “I don’t know if that’s possible, Catkin. Because the only woman I’ve ever come close to marrying is you.”

  Chapter 9

  Morning had arrived when Gordon woke up, though the soft light said it was still early. The odor of burned wood was in the air, but the temperature was relatively cool for the moment.

  Callie had moved during the night and rolled into him, her head tilted against his upper arm and her soft curves pressed along his side. She looked much younger and thoroughly irresistible in the pearly light. A few strands of apricot hair had curled loose against her fair skin. He felt a surge of pure, mindless desire, a need to bend over for a kiss and caress her into joyful morning passion....

  Except that he damned well had to resist for more reasons than he had fingers and toes to count on. Reasons that started with “war zone” and continued to Callie currently having zero interest in him or any other man. Maybe later, when she was safe and her life sorted out, she’d be more open to dalliance. Or maybe that would never happen. She seemed quite determined to keep men out of her life, and he understood why. The men in her life had not done well by her.